Fabrication Between the Fighting
by JacksBoonie
Summary: Do it! Pull the damn trigger, Relena. Go ahead. Show them you're not the pretty little princess they think you are. Pull the trigger and show them you can handle this world all by yourself. 1x6


AN: Why, Hulloo, Kats and Kittens. How's things, eh? Not much here. Just thought I'd get this little one-shot out of my notebook labeled "Thoughts of a Mind on Writer's Block" and into that big, bad world of ours, yes? So, it's nothing special, but please enjoy it all the same.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. I do not own the characters of Gundam Wing . . . But if I did, I can guarantee none of it would be legal. /Snigger/

_Pull the Trigger:_

"Do it! Pull the damn trigger, Relena," he taunts her, his cobalt eyes wild with rage and something akin to madness. "Go ahead. Show them you're not the pretty little princess they think you are. Pull the trigger and show them you can handle this world all by yourself."

Relena Dorlian-Peacecraft stands in the center of a large ballroom filled with gaping guests dressed in the finest of clothes; tuxedos that glint and gleam with a gloss so smooth one can almost see their face in them and gowns of every shape and color, so elegent and costly that they could probably feed a small country for a year. But her attention is occupied momentarily by the seemingly calm face staring down the barrel of the gun she grasps desperately in shaking fingers.

Her eyes swiftly scan their audience, seeking out the flaming blue orbs of her older brother. The former Lightning Count stands stricken, his fists clenched and trembling at his sides. Noin clings to his arm, her own eyes adorning a horrified look.

'She doesn't know,' Relena thinks to herself, her angry gaze returning to the face before her. Heero Yuy, or whatever his true name is (no one has ever really bothered to ask, and it is suspected that even _he_ does not know -- too brainwashed by that damned scientist to know up from down), glares at her, his lips twisted into some form of a demented grin.

"Come on, Relena. Show them what you're made of!" He shouts, inching forward until his forehead is resting against the barrel's opening, but he does not stop there. He continues towards her, causing her to take a step back, and then another. "You think you're so high and fucking mighty, don't you? You with your speeches about peace and the end of war. Newsflash, _your highness_: War is never truly over." She stops, suddenly, holding her ground as her eyebrows knit together and her teeth grind.

"And _what _would you know about _peace_, Heero?" She nearly snarls at him, spitting in his face. "You've killed so many people it's a wonder you even know the meaning of the word."

He remains unfazed by this remark, growling in response, "There is no such thing as 'peace,' Relena. There is only the fabrication of a better life between the fighting. You spew forth your imaginary ideals and your delusions, and the people lap it up like they've never heard anything so remarkable before. But it's because they aren't hearing anything else. They aren't hearing the truth . . . because you won't allow them to."

Relena pales at this, begging him with her eyes to stop talking, but he continues without hesitation, "Why haven't you told them, Relena? Why haven't you explained to your people that the peace treaties you put so much effort and time into just aren't cutting it anymore? Did you tell them about the riots in Japan? Perhaps the bombings in Bangladesh and Bhutan? What about-"

"Stop it!" Relena screeches at the top of her lungs, finding her back firmly pressed against the foot of the stage, where the band stares down at her with wide, surprised eyes. "Just stop it! Don't say anything else, Heero, or I swear to God . . . I swear to God . . ."

"You'll shoot me?" The Japanese teen mocks with a hysteric laugh. "You think I care whether I die, Relena? After everything we've been through, do you _really_ think my life matters to me?"

"It matters to _him_," the young woman motions behind him with a jerk of her chin, and Heero's smile slowly fades. He turns slightly and catches the anxious gaze of his secret lover, Milliardo Peacecraft. His eyes take on a look of nervousness, and he returns to the distraught girl still threatening him at arm's length with the deadly object.

"Don't," he hisses frantically. "Not here."

"How long?" She sobs, tears framing her cheeks and streaking her mascara down her face in thin, black lines. "How long have you been sleeping with my brother?" Gasps are heard throughout the crowd, and several pairs of eyes turn to the blonde-haired man. Noin looks to him with shock, releasing him slowly and backing away as her dark orbs plead him to renounce the accusation. He does not.

"Relena," his deep tone reverberates throughout the room, causing shivers to run up several spines. Normally, he would stop to relish in the fact that he can still cause such a stir in the general public, but under such dire circumstances, he does not feel the action would be entirely appropriate. "Stop this foolishness. There is no need for it."

"You lied to me," she whispers, shaking her head. "Both of you. You lied to me. How could you? How could . . ." Here, her voice trails off, and her forefinger tightens just a little more on the trigger.

"What did you think was going to happen?" Heero asks incredulously. "That you and I would fall in love and live happily ever after?" Relena's eyes shut tightly, a painful sound ripping from her throat. "This isn't a fairytale. So your silly little fantasies didn't play out the way you'd hoped. Tough."

"S-Stop it," she cries hoarsly, her voice failing completely. Her eyes remain shut tightly, her grip on the gun slowly beginning to waver.

"Show them, Relena," Heero demands softly, his tone so low that only she can hear him. "Show them you're worthy of being a leader. Take the initiative . . . _Shoot_."

Relena barely has time to gasp before the gun goes off, nearly shattering every bone in her hand. Heero's eyes widen, his breath caught in his throat as he stares into a pair of cool blue orbs. Zechs stands before him, his fingers digging painfully into the younger man's shoulders as his knees weaken. He takes in a weezing, gurgling gasp, and a crimson liquid slowly seeps from the corners of his mouth, coating his once-perfect lips.

He crumples to the floor, Heero following to cushion his fall and cradling the older man's head in his lap. Several men run forward, grabbing a dazed Relena and prying the gun from her stiffened fingers.

"Heero," Zeches manages in a small, liquid whisper. "D-Don't . . . be angry with her . . . She doesn't know how . . . to understand." Heero places his fingers over the man's lips, quieting him as he shakes his head.

"I won't make a promise I can't keep, Zechs," he chokes past tightened vocal chords.

"Milliardo!" Relena calls desperately, struggling against the hold of the men surrounding her. Heero growls low in his throat, glaring at the young woman, then turning to the stunned guests standing animatedly around them.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Heero's voice booms in the large room, echoing from every corner and crevice. "Someone call for an ambulance!"

"There's one on the way," Noin's voice sounds to his right, and she breaks through the crowd, falling to her knees by both men. Suddenly, Zechs arcs his back, giving a choked gasp before falling limp in Heero's arms.

"Zechs!" The young man shakes the body desperately, attempting to elicit a response and receiving none. "Damn it!" He carefully lays the man on the smooth, buffed floor, leaning over him for a moment to lay a soft kiss in the long, blonde strands before standing abruptly and pulling out the gun tucked against his spine.

"No!" Noin leaps up, tackling Heero to the floor, but not before he is able to aim and fire a shot, landing a bullet straight into Relena's chest. He doesn't know how long he lies there, blood pounding in his ears, but when he finally comes to, he finds a paramedic squatting beside Zechs, two fingers on his jugular.

"I've got a pulse on this one," the man calls, looking towards his colleague, who is bent over Relena.

"Me too," the other replies. "Let's get them onto the stretchers. People, please! Can we get some space, here?" Two more paramedics fight their way through the crowd with stretchers.

Heero tries to stand but finds his hands cuffed behind his back. Two pairs of hands, suddenly, grab him from either side, hauling him to his feet roughly.

"God damn it, Heero," Duo's voice grates to his right. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

"Where are they taking him?" Heero asks dazedly, watching as Zechs is carefully lifted onto a stretcher and hurried towards the exit, he and his entourage following as closely as possible.

"Yuy Memorial," Trowa replies bluntly to his left, "where _we're_ headed."

"Why?" The handcuffed teen inquires, not completely paying attention to the words spoken to him. He is far too busy studying the blood stains on his white shirt -- Zechs' blood, no doubt.

"You may have a head injury," the taller teen explains, he and Duo leading him towards Zechs' ambulance.

"What? I didn't hit my-"

"Banged it pretty good from what I saw," Duo interrupts grimly, undoing his handcuffs and helping him up into the large vehicle. "We'll meet you at the hospital. _Don't_ wander off."

The doors slam closed.

0 o 0 o 0

Heero sits in a small waiting room, surrounded by the other four ex-pilots-turned-Preventers, Noin, and Une. His eyes drill holes into the floor, his thoughts anywhere but the present. One image that repeatedly continues to plague his mind is the look on Relena's face as he had shot her -- a look of complete surprise and pain but one of understanding and acknowledgement. She knew why he shot her, and she had accepted it in her last moments of consciousness.

Suddenly, a surgeon enters the room, his face solemn and drawn. Six hours, the siblings have been in surgery. Six grueling hours. And that look, that hope-shattering look, is all that they need to know that death has descended upon one, if not both, of them this night.

Une is the only one to approach the man, their voices low as they converse.

"I see," she says after a long, drawn out moment. "So only one survived." Heero's breath hitches as the surgeon leans in closely, uttering a few more words before nodding and leaving. The colonel turns, her sights set solely on the young man. With a sigh she starts towards him, Heero standing to meet her as she stops barely a few inches from his trembling figure. She gently places her hands on his shoulders, offering him a sad look before turning him abruptly and twisting his arms behind his back.

"Heero Yuy," she states flatly. "You are under arrest for the murder of Vice Foreign Minister Relena Peacecraft."

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard to any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Well, what a twist. Even _I_ didn't expect it to end like that . . . Fingers, you have your work cut out for you. Well, Kats and Kittens, I hope you enjoyed this little monstrosity that made it's way past my defenses and onto my laptop. I really don't know _what_ to think of it, but all's fair in love and revenge, yea? Later, Gators! Catch ya on the flip side.


End file.
